


a little jaded, a little gruff

by brightwrites



Category: Beyond: Two Souls
Genre: AU where Jodie adopts a cat, Alternate Universe, Character Study, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempts, Mental Health Issues, References to Depression, Serious Injuries, Swearing, accidental pet acquisition, canon level crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 06:16:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18794626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightwrites/pseuds/brightwrites
Summary: Jodie paused for a moment. This little cat curled right into her, claws dug into her coat, head rubbing against the underside of her chin.This was not hygienic. This cat was filthy, and probably not vaccinated, and God, maybe it had fleas. The squeaky-clean lab rat that Jodie had once been was recoiling in horror.The tired, cold and lonely person that Jodie was now reached up and scratched the cat on the head....Jodie adopts a stray kitty. Like everyone else, he's tough, battle-hardened, and absolutelyadoresJodie.





	a little jaded, a little gruff

Jodie didn’t want to make clichéd references to shows she hadn’t even seen, but winter was coming.

She could feel, from the tip of her nose, to the littlest toe that stuck out from the worn hole in her sock. Unfortunately, she didn’t have much to think about other than how cold she was, given how her life had devolved into a precarious monotony. 

Put one foot in front of the other. Grab a couple of bills from an ATM - not enough to be noticed, never enough to be noticed. Buy herself something cheap, something to keep her going. Hot, if she was lucky. Continue putting one foot in front of the other.

Still, she could feel the cold creeping in. The creak in her joints, the cracks in her lips, the thicker and thicker coats that everyone else wore, while Jodie remained in the same, stained jacket.

One foot in front of the other. One day at a time.

Jodie remembered - once upon a time, back when everyone had thought that she was just a normal little girl - that she had said,  _ You don’t care, do you, Aiden? You never get cold. _

That sentiment was hitting her again, what felt like a hundred years later and definitely a hundred times harder.

Aiden made a humming noise above her, though she couldn’t tell if it was nostalgic or amused.

Jodie sometimes missed those days - ‘those days’ being the first eight years of her life. She wanted to ask Aiden if he did, too. Of course, if Aiden broke a vase, or drew on the walls, or tore the pages in a book, Jodie would have to either take the blame and get in trouble, or blame it on Aiden and get in even more trouble.

(She’d read a poem once -  _ Mr. Nobody. _ This omnipresent being who naughty kids would blame their bad deeds on. Lucky for little Jodie - the one girl whose Mr. Nobody ended up being real.)

Back then she wasn’t considered the freak, or the lab rat, or the perfect weapon.

She remembered - barely - being considered a normal little girl with an active imagination.

Did Aiden miss it, too? She couldn’t imagine he did. Surely no one would miss being considered a figment of some child's daydreams?

Her mind moved faster than her feet, which were slowing down considerably. God, she was tired.

Jodie leaned against the wall. Just for a second. Aiden nudged her, buzzing in a way that generally meant something between  _ Are you alright?  _ and  _ Keep going! _

“Yeah, yeah,” she murmured. “I’m fine. Just… just catching my breath,”

Aiden poked her again, more urgently this time. Jodie glanced behind her, but there wasn’t a police car, or group of thugs, or anything dangerous that she could see. She let her vision unfocus, slipping into Aiden’s eyes.

“What are you trying to show me, Aiden?”

Aiden raced around a nearby street corner, then zeroed in on a tiny, dark mass, laying in the corner of the alley, behind a dumpster. The only way to distinguish it from the bags of rubbish it was nestled amongst was that it emitted the faintest blue aura.

A cat.

A skinny little stray cat, too starved and dirty for Jodie to be able to tell what breed it was. More importantly, was the dark pool that seeped in a circle around it. The cat was bleeding.

Jodie blinked, seeing through her own eyes again. Righting herself, she forced one foot in front of the other, once again. Stepping quietly into the alley, she found it harder to find the cat, due to the unfortunate limits of human vision, unable to actually see life forces.

She was soon alerted by the hissing.

The cat, which she soon located at the back of the alley, pulled its lips back and  _ hissed _ at her, this horrible, coarse, crackling sound. It curled into itself further, giving her the greenest glower she’s ever seen.

Jodie crouched down, coming as close to the injured cat as she dared.  _ Aiden?  _ she asked, through that weird, psychic-link that they had,  _ Can you stop the bleeding? _

Aiden hummed a confirmation, floating over to the kitty, and stemming the glowing green life force that flowed out of the cat’s body. The cat wiggled a little, unsure of the new, strange sensation.

Aiden made a low murmuring noise, and Jodie understood it as,  _ That’s all I can do. _

Jodie gazed at the little body, alone and left to die in some dingy back alley.

She sighed and sat down against the opposite wall, curling up a little.

“Well, it’s not like I have anywhere else to be,”

* * *

 

Perhaps she should have planned better for this impromptu camp-out session in the back of an alley, but when the fuck did she plan  _ anything _ she did these days?

This was the girl who had jumped out of a helicopter in a moment of hurt and rage.

At least this alley was relatively sheltered from the wind, which bit and clawed and shrieked the warning for the incoming winter. That, and the alley was dry. Not completely, but hey, these were the open streets, what can you expect?

When reaching into her pocket, all Jodie could find was an granola bar wrapper, and a total of two cents in change. “Shit,”

Jodie could probably go another while without eating, she’d gone longer before, but the skinny little thing curled opposite her sure as hell hadn’t eaten in a long while. And probably wouldn’t be hunting for itself any time soon either.

So Jodie got to her feet, joints creaking and cracking - more than they should’ve been for another forty years or so, what the hell - and gazed down at the cat apologetically.

“I’ll be back in a minute, I promise,”

Those green eyes followed her all the way to the mouth of the alley.

* * *

 

The cat was still there, thank God, when Jodie returned, armed with a some bagels for herself, a packet of ham for the kitty, and a refill on water for the both of them.

“Okay,” she murmured, kneeling down in front of the cat, a little closer than the last time. “You hungry?”

The cat, thankfully, did not speak, but in the dark of the evening, its tail flicked lightly. Jodie pulled out the packet of ham, felt for the edge, and ripped it open.

The sound was deafening as it tore through the cool, thin air, and Jodie froze for a moment, listening for anyone coming in to inspect the weird sounds coming from an alley.

Thank God that it was around 11pm on a cold night, and all the sane people were inside, doing normal people things, and definitely _ not _ looking to walk into dark alleys.

A pang of  _ something _ hit Jodie, something thrumming with bitterness and homesickness and loneliness, but she was distracted by the rustling sound in front of her.

The cat wiggled to its feet, past injury be damned, and  _ pounced _ for the ham. Jodie held the packet out of the way on pure instinct, thankful for her jacket, as the cat tried to crawl up her arm in an attempt to reach the food. Nope, actually, she could feel the claws scraping her skin through the fabric.

Jodie grabbed a piece of ham and almost threw it at the cat, mind mostly a blind panic of  _ oh my God this thing is going to claw my face off. _

The cat gobbled down the ham, swallowing it almost whole, and this seemed to subdue it a little. It stared expectantly at the ham in her hand, padding into her lap with a low  _ meow. _

Jodie tore a slice of ham in half, and handed it to the cat - slower, calmer this time. “We have to ration this stuff, you know,” she told it.

The cat just chewed the ham with a happy  _ mrrep. _

* * *

 

Jodie now had another shadow.

On top of Aiden who was physically - spiritually? - attached to her, she had this cat, who was now apparently... emotionally attached to her. Or maybe now that they had shared a meal together, they were pack-bonded for life. Or something.

Jodie didn’t know shit about cats.

Anyway, this cat in particular would not stop following her around.

At first she had tried to shoo it away. It’s not like she wasn’t happy to have a more…  _ tactile  _ companion, but Jodie didn’t like the thought of dragging this unknowing little kitty into the absolute mess that was her life. She was being actively hunted by the CIA, for fuck’s sakes!

And yet. And  _ yet, _ the cat slowly but surely wore away at her willpower, purring like a lawnmower the entire time.

Jodie’s resolve broke down completely on one particularly cold night, the first of many to come. Jodie had been curled up just inside the mouth of an alleyway, knees folded against her chest, and her arms squished in between, an effort to preserve some essence of warmth.

The cat sat to the side, watching her with those big, almond eyes. He - she was pretty sure that he was a tomcat at this point - was doing that strange thing that cats do, hiding his legs underneath him to make him look something like a bread loaf.

Then, without hesitance or any semblance of shame, he got up, plodded right over to Jodie, and squished himself into the gap between her knees and chest.

(He slid in in that strange way that cats do - not quite a liquid, not quite solid either.)

Jodie paused for a moment. This little cat curled right into her, claws dug into her coat, head rubbing against the underside of her chin.

This was not hygienic. This cat was filthy, and probably not vaccinated, and God, maybe it had fleas. The squeaky-clean lab rat that Jodie had once been was recoiling in horror.

The tired, cold and lonely person that Jodie was now reached up and scratched the cat on the head.

This thing purred like a damn motorcycle. Jodie would know - she stole one once. It felt like there was an earthquake pressed against her ribcage.

Jodie wrapped her arms around the little cat, and resisted the urge to bury her face in his dirty fur.

* * *

 

“I guess we’re gonna have to name you now, huh?”

The next morning, the sun was out, and far too bright for anyone’s liking. Didn’t even feel like it was warming up the place all too much.

Jodie lifted the cat by the shoulders of his front legs. Although he was still matted with filth and knotted fur, she was pretty sure that he was a tom.

Jodie lifted her head and grinned into the air, dry lips almost splitting at the rare gesture. “What do you think of calling him ‘Aiden’?”

Aiden’s ghostly grumble and the rattle of the nearest trash can was answer enough to that question.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” she rolled her eyes. “What do  _ you _ suggest?”

A contemplative hum was her only answer.

Jodie found herself humming along, quietly. What to name this strange little furry monster that had purred and wriggled his way into her life?

Perhaps name him something comforting, something to remind her of better times. Not with the CIA, definitely not, but maybe before that?

Her first thought was  _ Cole  _ or  _ Nathan  _ but that was just weird. Plus, it has always felt off to her to give a pet such a...  _ human _ name.

Jodie herself had been named after a book character. The trials and tribulations of a little girl named Josephine.

(Her mom had showed her the books as soon as she was old enough to understand them. Seven year old Jodie had been enthralled by this mystery thriller, staying up late and reading by the moonlight and the orange glow of the street lights outside.

She had promptly named the strange, constant presence beside her after the protagonist’s best friend. Aiden.)

Jodie thought about naming the kitty after a book character. Harry Potter? Gandalf? How about the dog from that one Enid Blyton series, Loopy?

Nah. This cat was tough, judging by the scar on his snout and the missing chunk of his ear. A little too battle-hardened for something as…  _ nerdy _ as those book characters.

For a moment she considered naming him Church after the cat from Pet Sematary, but shuddered at the thought. That book had given her nightmares. She'd only read it ‘cause she'd been a teenager and Nathan had told her she wasn't allowed to.

Her mind wandered to other things that had brought her comfort in her childhood. There was Aiden, Susan, and the little stuffed rabbit that she had brought with her to the CIA.

The first two were a no-go. Aiden didn't want to share a name with a cat (plus, it’d probably end up in a lot of confusion, anyway). Giving the cat a normal person name just seemed off to her, and the thought of her mother still stung a little.

Jodie smiled a little at the idea of naming this badass street cat after the pink, googly-eyed toy that she used to hug when she was scared of the ‘monsters’.

“You know what,” she addressed the tomcat, still watching her with mildly confused eyes, “I think I'll call you Gruff.”

Gruff didn't seem to mind his new name.

* * *

 

Stan was not having, what you’d call, the greatest day.

They were in the depths of winter, past “I can't feel my fingers” and into “I can't remember what warmth feels like”.

Jimmy was going through withdrawals once again, which meant no help there. Tuesday hadn't felt her baby move in days, and shouldn’t be doing strenuous work at this point, anyway. Walter claimed that he was fine, but judging from his wet cough and sluggish movements, may have been coming down with something.

The cherry on top of this shitty sundae, they had absolutely nothing to eat.

Stan decided that their best bet was the ol’ reliable of rummaging through dumpsters. Certainly not dignified, and had led to him getting yelled at and chased away on more than one occasion, but it was unbelievable the things that people would throw away.

There was plenty of reason for Stan to believe that he would find something valuable amongst the trash. A ripped jacket, a dirty pair of sneakers, maybe a wool hat to keep the chill out.

(In times like these, the phrase  _ beggars can’t be choosers _ often comes to mind, funnily enough. Stan doesn’t laugh.)

Unfortunately, he could only assume that this place was rat infested. The dumpsters around him kept shaking and rattling in ways that settled a stone of uneasiness in the pit of his stomach. Something wasn’t right.

Maybe something smelled off (oh, who was he kidding, he was rummaging through garbage, everything smelled off), maybe he was coming down with a stomach bug. Maybe it was just the knowledge that he was surrounded by large, diseased rodents that was upsetting him.

(But at some point, living without a home, completely exposed to the public and sleeping in the streets, you learn to listen to yourself when your gut is screaming  _ danger danger DANGER.) _

Something wasn’t right.

Stan was just about ready to give up, scarper back to the others with his tail between his legs. If those really were rats he heard, then this entire area is pretty much forfeit anyways. they’re desperate, but he’s not willing to catch the plague for the sake of getting a new pair of gloves, thank you very much.

That’s when the wailing started.

No.  _ Wailing  _  wasn’t quite right. A high-pitched noise had blurred with the moan of the wind on the main street, creating the auditory illusion of what sounded like a woman weeping.

_ (In an awful, sick kind of way, it reminded him of when Nancy was going through her treatments. Sometimes he wondered if the surgeries and medications hurt more than the actual sickness. None of them helped in the end, anyway.) _

It wasn’t wailing. Stan recognized it as the same sound he would hear from neighbour’s apartments in the dead of night, back when he had a steady house and job and wife. It was the yowling of a distressed cat.

Usually, Stan would ignore this. Stray cats were everywhere in the city, and attacked if you came too close. If they didn’t attack, they probably weren’t strays anyway.

But hey, it’s not like Stan had anything else to do. As said before, this place was apparently rat territory all along. He wasn’t looking forward to going back to the others empty handed.

Stan headed back out to the mouth of the alley, flinching a little as soon as his shelter against the wind was gone. Damn, it really had started snowing hard when he was looking through the dumpster. Hopefully Walter—

There was a girl lying in the snow.

There was a girl, or at least he thought she was a girl, lying slumped over and pale and still in the snow. And the cat curled against her abdomen would not stop screaming. Stretching its mouth open, baring its teeth and  _ bellowing, _ it fixed its eyes on Stan.

Stan stepped towards the girl, crouching down a little. He could see that she was still breathing, thank God, there was puffs of condensation coming out of her mouth in short, uneven bursts. She was sallow and sickly-looking (but who wasn’t, these days).

She was clearly out for the count.

The cat was a ratty tom whose screeching had tapered down into a loud meowing. He never took his eyes off Stan, still snuggled up tight against the unconscious girl.

Stan took a second to look around, but no one in their right mind was out on a night like this. He just didn’t want to look like some sicko who was making off with a girl who had collapsed in the street.

Then again, looking at this girl, the many jackets, the tired face, the unfashionably ripped jeans, it seemed like she was sleeping rough, like the rest of them. Stan doubted that anyone would care, in that case.

Dark thoughts.

Stan rolled the girl off her side, jostling the cat. He worked one arm under her back, pushing her into a near sitting position, and slipped the other arm under her knees.

Stan lifted her with an almost surprising ease. Good thing, too. Biting cold and a shortage of food don’t exactly give boosts in the muscles department.

And so he went off, carrying a girl who was dead to the world, plus a cat who trailed along his ankles, still meowing loudly as he followed behind Stan.

(And there was no way that Stan could have known this, but there was a fourth presence tagging along with their little group, too. One that took a role similar to that of the cat, in that he was watching this stranger with sharp eyes to see what he planned on doing to - a very vulnerable - Jodie.)

* * *

 

The building was burning.

The building was burning. Stan and Tuesday and Zoey and Walter and Jimmy were all safe.

The building was burning. Every exit was filled with flames.

The building was burning. Jodie couldn’t find her cat.

“Gruff!” she called, voice hoarse from shouting and smoke inhalation and probably a million other things. “Gruff, c’mere boy!”

(Wait, that was for dogs. Jodie didn’t know how to summon cats. Jodie really didn’t know that much about cats.)

Her chest felt like it was burning along with the rest of the building. Jesus, breathing in smoke really does not feel good. Is this what smoking a cigarette feels like? Why do people do this voluntarily?

_ Now’s not the time. _

Aiden made an agitated rumbling sound, busting a hole through another wall. Jodie could see into the next room.

Through the smoke and the dark and the blurry vision, she could  _ just _ make out a dark, quivering shape in the corner of the room.

There he was!

Jodie raced for Gruff. He was curled up, barely moving, as far as possible from the flames. Jodie grabbed him and  _ ran. _

The entire building was on the verge of collapse. Beam and bricks and planks of wood kept cracking and breaking and falling a breath away from Jodie.

Aiden knocked down another wall. This one was to the outside air. She felt the stupidest urge to stop and just savour it, the cool night air blushing against her blistered cheeks. Jodie could just see the figures of her friends, standing in the snow below. Their mouths seemed to be moving, though Jodie couldn’t hear a word of what they were saying.

Jodie didn’t even take a moment to warn Aiden. She had wasted too much time already. She took a running leap, and just trusted him.

_ Boom! _

And then Walter was shakily saying something and Stan was checking if she was alright and oh God, was Zoey okay? And the whole time, Jodie just clutched onto Gruff, who was breathing a little clearer now, nestled in her arms. He clutched right back.

Then there was a  _ crack _ and the world disappeared.

* * *

 

Jodie awoke feeling gross.

That probably shouldn’t have been the first thing on her mind, considering that she just died and relived her entire life, and perhaps maybe possibly met Aiden in a corporal form?

But the first thing that burst into her head when she bolted upright in that damn hospital bed was  _ I need a shower. _

Her cheeks had a second skin of soggy, dried tears, her eyes were bleary and unfocused, and she must have been sweating in her sleep because the gown she was wearing was sticking to her in uncomfortable places.

The second thing she realized was that she was in a fucking hospital.

Or, at least she could safely  _ assume  _ that she was in a hospital considering the beeping of the heart monitors (were they heart monitors? Brainwave monitors? Jodie wasn’t a freaking doctor), the needle stuck in her arm, and the desolate bareness of the room around her.

Then again, that last one may have just been minimalistic decor.

The last thing that registered was the fact that she was alive.

(Perhaps that was a little worrying.)

“Aiden?”

Jodie murmured the name aloud, though she knew she didn’t need to. She could  _ feel  _ him, could always feel his presence, above or below or beside or just  _ around  _ her.

“Why, Aiden?” Silence. “I didn’t want to come back.”

(She was far, far too tired to be able to pull off the accusatory tone she was going for.)

Deep down, she wasn’t surprised. It’s what Aiden had always done. He’d choke bullies that went too far, pull at the monsters that attacked her at night, break light fixtures that time her “father” raised a threatening hand.

More recently, Aiden’s biggest challenge had been Jodie herself. Sometimes she could still feel the cool barrel of the gun as she pressed it against the soft of her throat, the blade of the knife being pushed into her numb wrist, or the entire world tilting around her as, just for a second, she was tipping, tipping, tipping off the lip of a building.

For unknown reasons, Aiden always chose to save her. Always chose to remain tethered.

(Jodie knew the reasons. They were the same reasons for the pure, utter and all-consuming  _ terror _ that had coursed through her during those seconds when she had believed that Aiden had gone back through the rift with the other entities.)

And so she got up, like she always did.

Ripped out the IV tube (shouldn’t that have alerted a nurse or something? Whatever, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth), and settled her weight onto her feet for the first time in, God, she didn’t even know how long.

A part of her, that may have just been Aiden, said that she probably shouldn’t have been exerting her powers - or were they Aiden’s powers? - after just waking from a goddamn coma, but she’s been through worse.

(It does concern her, a little, though, that she doesn’t seem to be able to discern where Jodie ends and Aiden begins.)

She saw Jimmy, and Zoey, and Tuesday - no - Elisa. In quick, shaky flashes, she heard their voices and heard their stories and a part of her  _ ached _ for them.

Then she got to the flower pot. Jodie knew what was going to happen before she even touched it, could  _ feel _ it thrumming and pulsing with that strange sort of energy. She could hear something in her screaming that this was an  _ important _ item.

Her powers seemed to have built up over the… three months? That she was in a coma. She felt like an overflowing battery, the memories hitting her hard and quickly and what felt like all at once.

_ “I got the job,” _ Stan had said.  _ “Rented a small apartment. I’m... doing okay. Your little tomcat really misses you. He won’t go more than fifty feet from this hospital. Barely lets us feed him.” _

Stan paused for a second, looking away.  _ “We miss you too, Jodie. We really miss you.” _

And then it was over, and Jodie’s head was pounding, and more tears decided to join the mess that was her face.

* * *

 

Okay, so maybe jumping out of a five-story window wearing a hospital gown after just waking up from a three month coma wasn’t the  _ best _ option, but time had been running out and her head was too fuzzy with images of Stan and Zoey and Jimmy to think of anything else.

Aiden caught her, as she knew he would. She hit the ground with a  _ fwoom _ of energy that shook the grass around her.

“Gruff?” Jodie called, soft as she could. “Gruff!”

On one hand, she couldn’t stay there. The two CIA agents from the hallway were going to be there any damn second, and had probably called backup.

On the other, she was definitely willing to take down another helicopter or three if it meant finding her cat.

She was near the parking lot, which was pretty quiet at this time of night, but for the rush of the occasional passing car from the main road.

_ Please, please, please, _  she begged inside her head. Jodie had only spent a couple of weeks with Gruff, but the idea of sleeping alone again sent this horrible, twisting feeling rolling through her gut.

Jodie nearly screamed.

Something furry brushed against her bare ankles.

She looked down, hands trembling, and her gaze was met with two bright, green eyes hovering in the dark.

Gruff mewled. Jodie nearly cried (again).

She scooped the skinny cat into her arms and just ran. In the darkness, she could hear backup beginning to arrive for the CIA agents. Cars, motorbikes, trucks, fuck, was that another damn helicopter?

Through it all, through the dark, Jodie just ran. Not a stitch on her but a hospital gown, a throbbing scar on the back of her head from where it had been split open, and newer scrapes opening on her soles and ankles due to lack of footwear.

Just a girl, her cat, and the otherworldly entity that was permanently bound to her.

She wouldn’t have it any other way.

* * *

 

At some point, after Stan and the others and before Paul and his family, Jodie stopped at a motel.

(Most allowed pets of a reasonable size. The ones that didn’t well, her backpack was empty enough that Gruff could hide in there for two minutes. Or under her coat, if it was chilly outside.)

She took one look at the bathtub in dingy bathroom, then glanced at the filthy kitty that was stretched across the bedsheets like he owned the place.

Well, there was probably far too many spiders in that bath for Jodie to want to use it, anyway.

Much pain, and splashing, and yowling later, she learned that Gruff was a long-haired tabby.

* * *

 

Jodie wasn’t ready.

No matter how many times that she thought she was. A gun to the jaw, a knife to the wrist, tipping, tipping, tipping, off the edge.

_ I don’t want to die. _ The thought nearly sent her to her knees.  _ I don’t want to die! _

Her hand touched the dusty, liquid barrier separating wherever she was - limbo, purgatory, the In-Between, whatever - from life.  _ I don’t want to die. _

For a second -  _ just _ for a second - she shot one last look at her loved ones, watching patiently from the afterlife.  _ I don’t want to die. _

_ Not yet. _

She stepped into the land of the living, and didn’t look back again.

* * *

 

A former CIA agent, a scientist of the paranormal, and a wanted criminal walk into a hospital.

Sounds like the setup for a joke.

It wasn’t even true. Ryan, Cole, and Jodie  _ staggered _ into the hospital like intoxicated donkeys. Cole was nursing a pretty serious side slash. Ryan wasn’t likely to have had a fun time with the entities without the protection of a containment field.

Jodie probably had hundreds of injuries that she should have been cataloging, but the only thing that had her properly reeling was the sudden emptiness in the air around her.

It’s like a black hole. Technically, she couldn’t see his absence, but it consumed every other thought she tried to focus on.

She couldn’t focus. Her mind was a constant broken record of  _ he’s not there, he should be there, he’s not there. _

Cole was the first to be taken in for examination. Then Jodie.

She almost felt bad for Ryan. No one should be left alone after going through what they just did.

That thought was then swallowed up by the abyss that was the lack of Aiden.

The doctor went over her injuries. He asked her questions. She answered. (Later on, she’ll barely remember this conversation ever taking place.)

(Even later on, weeks later, she’ll have trouble remembering if this conversation took place before or after she ran away from the CIA.)

Other things happened, but it all happened in a vacuum, in a dazed cloud of disbelief.

The next time that she felt fully aware, it was dark outside the windows. And Jodie was in a hospital bed.

_ No no no no. _ This had already happened. This had already happened, what was she doing back here?

Jodie bolted upright in her hospital bed, not for the first time, and nearly puked. Part of it being relief, in that she hadn’t travelled back in time, back into her old hospital room. This room was different, and honestly, not as nice.

The bigger reason for the sudden nausea being that the emptiness was once again hitting her like a truck.

Jodie felt like she was trying to move a limb that wasn’t there.

The window was open. The window was open, so she focused on that. The night air was cool, which was refreshing, due to the fact that Jodie felt altogether disgusting. She was pretty sure that she may have been crying in her sleep.

Just like last time, huh.

Jodie lay back down, and didn’t think about the fact that for the first time in her life, she was actually, truly alone.

At some point, she slept.

* * *

 

Jodie awoke to the sound of voices murmuring and the clean smell of store-bought flowers.

Slowly, hesitantly, she opened her eyes. They felt glued together by a combination of dried tears and exhaustion, and for a moment, the room was just a dreamlike fuzz of colours and sounds.

Then she blinked, and reality came crashing down into this crappy little hospital room.

“Hey,”

Soft and familiar. Jodie pushed herself up slowly, into a sitting position, and turned to face Ryan, fidgeting in the seat beside her bed. She squinted.

“Shouldn’t you be in a hospital bed, too?” Jodie really didn’t feel that sore. Well, that’s not true. But she had felt  _ worse, _ without ending up in the hospital.

“Nah, I was only barely scratched up. All surface level,” Ryan tilted his head a millimeter. Barely perceptible. “All the entities just seemed to go for you.”

Jodie let out a deflating breath, nearly flopping against the headboard of the bed. “Yeah,” she said distantly. “Yeah, I know,”

It’s always been like that.

A heady silence filled the room for a moment. Then, a crisp rustling sound. “So,” Ryan said, apparently rummaging around in a bag that was outside of Jodie’s view. “I stopped by your apartment—”

“How the fuck do you know where I live?” Considering that she had technically been hiding out from the government in that apartment, the fact that Ryan, a (former) CIA agent had apparently managed to find it so easily, was concerning.

Ryan stared at her for a moment, looking a little alarmed. “You told me,” he held up a familiar keychain. “Gave me your keys and everything.”

Huh. Frankly, Jodie had absolutely no recollection of that conversation. And, perhaps even more troubling, she couldn’t really find it inside herself to care. “Okay,”

Ryan watched her for a second and a half longer, before turned back to the bag that was presumably beside the bed. “I brought clothes,” he pulled out a sweater and jeans, “That book you really like,” the book that she had liked about three years ago, which, to be fair, was the last time that she had had time to properly talk to Ryan about things that didn’t really matter. It was nice that he remembered. “And, uh, I’ll probably get in trouble for this, but…”

And then he pulled a whole-ass cat out of the bag.

Not just any cat.

Gruff.

Jodie clapped a hand across her mouth to force back a verging-on-hysterical laugh. Gruff meowed, looking disgruntled and grumpy.

“Okay,” she said. Ryan gently, and - almost apologetically - set the cat down her the covers. Gruff blinked at her slowly. He padded over to curl up into her lap.

As always, he purred like a damn tractor. Jodie raised a hand to his fur.

And promptly burst into tears.

She was so tired, and hungry, and sore, and thirsty, and  _ tired, _ that for a second, she didn’t even feel embarrassed about sobbing over a cat that she had just seen a couple of days ago.

Then she did.

“Sorry,” she hiccoughed softly, “Sorry, I just,” she didn’t finish.

Jodie wiped at her eyes hurriedly. God.

Glancing over to Ryan, she saw him hovering awkwardly to the side, hands caught in an almost outstretched position, as if debating if he should, like, pat her shoulder or something. Eventually he dropped his arms.

Jodie’s glad. She’s not sure if she could handle being touched by anyone at this point.

At least he didn’t walk away this time.

* * *

 

For the next few months, Jodie wasn’t really there.

When she was given a choice between living or… whatever lay beyond, she had spent barely a minute and a half in the Between. She didn’t really know if she was technically dead, or like, half-dead, during that time, and didn’t know if she really cared.

What she did know was that humans weren’t meant to spend time there  _ and then _ return to the living. And it was affecting her mind.

Her long-term memory had come back out scrambled as morning eggs.

Did the first experiment happen before or after Nathan’s wife and daughter died? What did she even do with the motorbike she had gotten from Jay and Cory? Why did she run away from the CIA again?

Sometimes a memory would hit her, generally in the middle of the night, and she would lunge towards the desk to write it down. Scribbling frantic notes, sentences that dipped below the lines, words that were crossed out then rewritten then crossed out again, facts as big as what she had done to Gemaal Sheik Charrief, to as small as what she wore to her date with Ryan.

(After whatever this fog was cleared, she’d arrange these haphazard memories into something coherent. Into something like a timeline.)

Whenever she wasn’t trying to write the most confusing autobiography in history, she was mourning Aiden.

And holy shit, it  _ hurt. _

It didn’t help that she was also grieving the twin brother she never had, but also always had, and suddenly didn’t anymore.

The complexity of the situation wasn’t helping.

On the worse days, she didn’t get out of bed. Couldn’t get out of bed.

On the worse days, she would almost, almost regret her decision to live again.

(On the worse days, she never had the energy to go through with thoughts like those.)

On those days, Gruff would climb into her lap.

And it didn’t  _ really _ change anything. He couldn’t fix the gaping, tearing,  _ maw  _ of a black hole where Aiden should have been. He couldn’t reorganize her memories.

But he helped with the desperate, crushing loneliness that came with being untethered for the first time in her entire life.

(And his feeding times helped too. Jodie may have easily forgotten to feed herself, but like hell was a cat going to let her forget to feed him.

Having a structure, a schedule, a means of measuring the time, it helped Jodie a lot to pull her out of her stupor.)

Plus it felt, not  _ normal, _ but… domestic, almost, to be grumpy about the small things. Things like her cat stepping on her bladder while she was in bed, or running around the house full speed at exactly too-early o’clock in the morning.

It was stupid to complain about little inconveniences when she had been on the run and  _ homeless _ for the better part of three years. But it was nice. Oddly nice.

It was things like Gruff’s lawnmower purring, or the (frankly, terrible) drawing she had done for Cole, or even just the memory of the word  _ miracle, _ echoing in her ears like it was the night she had first heard it, that kept her going through the haze.

And she knew that it likely wasn’t healthy to treat any period of her life as a transitionary period. But that’s all it was, really. Every moment that she spent in that little cabin next to the river just felt like another moment closer to the day that she would leave this place and figure out what she  _ actually _ wants to do.

To her, this was just a breather. A small pocket in time to allow her to recover, lick her wounds a bit, then venture back out into the real world.

(Really, as romantic as the media seemed to find it, Jodie had no intention of staying in some rustic cabin as a hermit for the rest of her life. For as many bad memories that others had given her - and there were  _ many _ \- she wanted to live a life surrounded by people.

You’d think that, after a  _ lifetime _ of being almost-alone, she’d get used to it, but nope. She had spent years starved for human interaction, and it was hell. This was her life now. Not her parents, not the DPA, not the CIA, none of them could stop her from going and being  _ happy, _ surrounded by other people without some constant overseer hanging over her head. She wanted to talk to people.

For a while there, she just wasn’t quite ready yet.)

At some point - no. Over several small points, over  _ time, _ she realized that this mini chapter of her life was coming to a close.

She’d caught her breath, she’d rewritten every memory, she’d allowed her wounds to scab over without scratching.

(She meant that both metaphorically and literally. She had… definitely underestimated her injuries from the Black Sun incident. There were stitches involved.)

She was going to have to be around other people from now on. She was going to reintegrate herself into society, but this time, without Aiden as a crutch.

Living life the way that other, ordinary people lived theirs. The thought sent a shudder of both dread and hesitant excitement racing through her insides.

_ (Ah yes, there’s John, down the street. He grew up in New York City, did you know? Then there’s Mary, she went to an Ivy League college! I can’t even imagine. _

_ Oh, Jodie? Yeah, she grew up in the Department of Paranormal Affairs. Went on the run from the CIA for a while. Destroyed a Kazirstan base, then the DPA headquarters. But really, I must ask John what growing up in NYC was like.) _

Even if, at some point during those three years on the run, she had adjusted herself somewhat to society, she had still had Aiden back then. She was never  _ truly  _ normal.

(Deep down, she knew that she never would be  _ truly _ normal. Even if she weren’t able to see ghosts and monsters, the things she’s gone through, the things she’s seen, the things she’s  _ done, _ fairly few people have those experiences under their belt.)

Blending in and keeping her head down had been a struggle, but she had had Aiden and Gruff, and memories of the past had been given the chance to fade a little. She had been completely in control of her life for the first time _ever,_ no scientists or parents or CIA generals to tell her what to do.

(Admittedly, being given free reign over her own life, being presented with hundreds, thousands, millions of choices that she had had to make for herself, had overwhelmed her to the point of terror.

Yet also, making choices had been exhilarating. Making stupid, bad choices, making choices knowing that Nathan would shake his head, or Ryan would raise and eyebrow, making terribly  _ ridiculous _ decisions had given her this silly rush of glee every time she did it.

It had probably been the teenager in her that was always whining to be set free.)

Going back to live in the proximity of other people was going to be like a broken bone that had healed wrong. She was going to have to re-break it, then allow it to heal and adjust properly, without Aiden as a safety blanket.

God, she’d never been more scared in her life.

So, Jodie sat out, next to the running river, and turned her thoughts over, the same way she did the stone in her hands.

Living alone, or with Jay and Cory, Zoey and the rest, or Ryan.

None of them were a guarantee, really, except for being alone. She hadn’t known Jay or Cory for very long, who’s to say they would welcome her back with open arms? She’d known Stan and Tuesday and the others for even less time, and even then, they were probably struggling as it was. As for Ryan, God, they’d gone through so much together, but was that necessarily a good thing?

_ (If you don’t find what you’re looking for, come back here. You have a home. _

_ We miss you too, Jodie. We really miss you. _

_ But look, whatever you do… just remember I’ll always be there for you.) _

Jodie threw the stone into the river, making some attempt at skimming it. It fell short and sank with a  _ plop, _ and Jodie almost felt it in her to smile. The river kept running, up and over and under the stone, not pausing in its constant motion for even a second.

(“Time nor Tide waits for no man.” Jodie had once seen the saying stitched onto some cushion in a shop’s window. She’s squinted at it for a second, but kept walking, finding it a little tacky. Still, the phrase had left a funny feeling low in her gut, and traces of it had lingered in her mind for the rest of the week.

Only after her memories had been scrambled and then clumsily reconstructed, piece by piece, scene by scene, had it resurfaced.)

Jodie didn’t  _ want  _ to sit at the edge of the river forever, watching things pass by.

A stupid urge appeared in her head, a stupid, trivial urge, and she allowed it. She slipped off her shoes, one by one, and dipped her feet in the river, heart jumping at the freezing temperature and the unfamiliar sensation of rushing water slipping through her toes.

Before…  _ everything _ that had happened in the last year or so, she would’ve been angry. Would have been furious, would have asked why she was only getting to know these things in her mid-twenties, rather than experiencing these things naturally as a child, bright-eyed and squealing and bursting at the seams with curiosity.

That resentment had softened, somehow, over time. Softened into a deep, distant ache. A little sad, a little wistful, of the life she could’ve had, a normal kid, covered in mud and bramble scratches and giggling at dumb jokes.

_ (“I was just a girl, for fuck’s sakes! I was just a little girl!”) _

But she was learning. Learning to laugh at silly things, to stop and stare at the sky when it turned pink and orange and gold, to dip her feet in the water.

Behind her, in the cabin, Gruff was napping. She could almost hear his earth-shaking snores.

So Jodie ran her hands over the scars on her hands and arms, the one on her palm where the screwdriver was stabbed through, the one on her thumb where she slipped with a knife while chopping vegetables, the little round one on her arm where the cigarette had burned her.

So she rubbed at the callouses on her fingers and the grime in between the cracks of her skin and the earth under her fingernails.

So she swished her feet in the water, numb from the cold and ghostly pale in that strange way that the watery light changes things.

So she smiled, just the tiniest bit, and was allowed to go after the life she wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> hey so this is what i spent my easter break doing. writing a 7k word fic for a game that came out 6 years ago with a tiny-ass fandom.
> 
> (srsly though, i love this game and jodie with my entire heart and soul, i cannot comprehend WHY it's not more popular.)
> 
> i tried to keep this as impartial to each ending as possible, (with the obvious exception of the Beyond ending) so u can decide which ending you think jodie should have picked. if i'm being honest, the Ryan ending is my overall favourite, but i think that the Zoey ending would make the most sense for this story. but idk.
> 
> literally, when i first started writing this, it was only meant to be like 3k words at MOST. but then i kinda got into the character analysis and jodie's spiraling mental health and this ended up. very long.
> 
> hmu on tumblr, i'm @brightwritesstuff !


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